A Friend More Faithful
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: Ron's afterlife is pretty bitter. Can he close the chapter of his life and move on, to whatever lies ahead? [COMPLETE]
1. A Friend More Faithful

Title: A Friend More Faithful...  
Author: SchizoAuthoress   
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: deathfic, read with caution.  
  
"A Friend More Faithful..."  
  
This looks bad. Voldemort is waving a huge sword, screaming that he'll make sure that Harry Potter is dead this time.  
  
Well, the bastard will have to get through me first.  
  
He's really going to...goddammit, Harry, get out of the way!  
  
I shove my friend down. The sword hits me. God! It feels like a fire-iron just rammed into my right side.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
Shit. He changed his mind  
***  
The green light clears. So I'm not dead. But then...  
  
No, Harry's kneeling next to me. It's Voldemort who's dead on his back.  
  
"Oh, my God, Ron...I'm so sorry..."  
  
Sorry? What the hell...why is Harry sorry that he killed the Dark Lord?  
  
Wait. Is it because me getting hurt was Harry's motivation to use the Killing Curse? Aw, Harry, it's just a scratch. Get me to Madam Pomfrey; she'll fix me up, all right.  
  
Just like the time that idiot Lockhart removed all the bones in your arm. Heh, remember that? Harry, remember?  
  
What's wrong with Ginny? Ginny, don't you cry. I'm going to be okay, just get me to the Hospital Wing. Ginny, stop it.  
  
I'm going to be fine, fine. I've told you before that we redheads look hideous when we cry.  
  
Oh, Harry, don't you start. What's the matter with you people...?  
  
Oh.  
  
I see.  
  
That could be considered as more than 'just a scratch.'  
  
By the looks of it, Voldemort's sword went through me, came out my left side. Dammit. Hey, I'm shish ka Ron! God, I'm funny, huh? Death brings out the humour in people, I suppose...  
  
"Ron!"  
  
Umph. Hermione, get off! Stop, stop making such a fuss. I could understand if it were Harry; Harry's worth making a scene over...  
  
God, will you people listen to me? I want to tell you...  
  
I remember the Mirror of Esired, how I wanted to stand alone...to not be in the shadow of my brothers' accomplishments.  
  
How's this for distinction? The boy who died for the Boy-Who-Lived. I would rather not die. At least not now.  
  
I had it all planned out...I'd become the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Maybe Harry and definitely Hermione would work at Hogwarts, too. When I got married, Harry would be my best man; I'd be his when he tied the knot...now I'll never...  
  
Oh, hell. Does that count as "unfinished business"? I don't want to be a ghost like Moaning Myrtle. I can just imagine.  
  
Weeping Weasley, haunting the Gryffindor common because I never got to tell my friends...  
  
"Ron, why did you do it?"  
  
I feel like I'm drowning. Oh, that's the blood filling my lungs. I'm drowning in my own blood.  
  
There's not much time.  
  
"Harry...we're...best friends. Had to...help you..."  
  
Stop crying, for God's sake, all of you! I'll be okay...just...let me say it...  
  
It's getting dark...Hermione, was there supposed to be a storm today...?  
  
God, no! Wait, let me talk, please! Listen to me!  
  
I fix my eyes on her, but I'm not sure if she can see me through her tears. I've just got to let her know...  
  
"I...love you.."  
  
~~HERE LIES  
RONALD WEASLEY  
  
BELOVED SON AND BROTHER  
  
A FRIEND MORE FAITHFUL WE WILL BE HARD PRESSED TO FIND  
YOU WILL BE MISSED FOREVER  
  
REST IN PEACE~~  
  
Finis 


	2. My SoCalled Afterlife

Title: My So-Called Afterlife  
Author: SchizoAuthoress   
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: The sequel that wasn't meant to be written! Ron was killed by Lord Voldemort to save Harry, and now he wanders the halls of Hogwarts, unable to let go of the unfinished business of his life.  
  
A/N: See what happens sometimes when reviewers ask for a sequel? You say, I'm sorry but I don't think so, but your Muses say, Hey that's a pretty good idea. And then you end up writing one when you should be typing up the last chapters to another fic that's finished on paper. More of a comedy that "Faithful...," but also a bit more angsty too.  
  
"My So-Called Afterlife"  
sequel to a friend more faithful...  
  
"PEEVES!" I roar menacingly as the shrieks of first-years falling victim to the poltergeist's incessant pranks come to my ears. I zoom down the hallway toward the multi-colored spirit, taking note of the fact that he's broken a number of ink bottles and doused a few Ravenclaw girls in blue and bronze ink.  
  
He laughs at me, sticking out his tongue. "Just trying to brighten up this dreary old hallway, you dreary old ghost! It's their House colors, too!" He vanishes through the wall, taunting me with, "Gonna call up the Bloody Baron, Weasley?"  
  
Oh, that's it. I *hate* dealing with the Baron and he knows it. "I'm going to take care of you myself, Peeves!" I shout, taking up the pursuit. It's pretty much the only fun thing I have left to do.  
  
We pass through whole halls and classrooms with what would be dizzying speed, if either of us were alive. Finally, I corner him in the staff room, and this is only because he thinks he can cause some mayhem there. The damned sword that killed me is still stuck in my side, don't ask *me* why, but I draw it out and stab him a couple of times in the chest. He gasps, chokes, and falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.  
  
We both laugh hysterically. It's something of a game to us; after all, how else does one fill up an eternity of Limbo if not with a couple well-meaning, if sort of violent, games? But someone disagrees with this view...  
  
"Hardly appropriate behavior for a heroic spirit killed in an act of loyalty, Ronald."  
  
I shrug, not deigning to look behind me at the speaker. "We can't all be perfect examples of otherworldly solemnity, Nick."  
  
"I am Sir Nicholas--"  
  
"de Mimsy-Porpington to you, Ronald Joshua Weasley!" I finish in unison with him, in his exact outraged tone. Peeves grins. Nick grumbles something about 'young ghosts today...' and wanders through the door.  
  
Huh. Who cares how I act? I put the sword back into my body. It may seem morbid, but I actually have no qualms about playing around with the weapon--or the ghostly equivilent of it--that killed me. Hell, if I'm stuck with it forever, might as well have some fun with it, right? Peeves and I exchange looks that clearly say we agree on the point that Nick must have the ghost of a Hercules beetle up his arse, stuffy old prat.  
  
Peeves shrugs. "Well, he's been like that since he died...still has his knickers in a twist because they didn' bother t' chop his thick 'ead off proper."  
  
"And he thinks I enjoy floating around skewered by this thing?" I ask sarcastically, gesturing to the handle of the blade. Again, Peeves shrugs.  
  
"Not like many of the spirits aroun' here enjoy bein' kept from their heavenly reward..."  
  
"Or their hellish punishment," I remind him. Peeves cackles and nods.   
  
"Aye, y'don't hear many of them itchin' to have a crack at infinity with Ol' Scratch. But then, none of them think they did anything bad enough t'merit Hell...'cept maybe the Baron..."  
****  
Over the ten or so years that I've been dead, things have changed a lot, but in lots of ways, they've stayed the same. Bill is still risking his neck, breaking curses and collecting treasure. Charlie is still chasing dragons in Romania, but he also has a wife--Tamara, another worker at the Romanian dragon reserve--and a baby boy named Alan. Percy works for the Daily Prophet now, writing scathing social commentary and editorials...I have no idea if he's involved with anyone. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has just opened up its Devonshire location, making the total of shops five. Fred and George are both heartbreakers, so I hear.   
  
Harry plays Quidditch professionally. He and Ginny got married, and they have two kids: a son named Ronald James and a daughter named Lila Marie. Yes, I know that their boy is named after me; please don't start with that. If I had had more of a say in the matter, he wouldn't have been. It's just a little embarrassing, or it has the potential to be, next year when Ronald Potter starts at Hogwarts.   
  
Most of the teaching staff remains the same, but with the enviably peaceful and *natural* death of Professor Dumbledore five years prior, Professor McGonagall became the new Headmaster. The vacant positions of Defense Against Dark Arts and Transfiguration were filled for good about a year ago, by Lucius Malfoy and Hermione. It turns out that Snape, in addition to being a spy for the side of Light, had set up a spy *network* in the Deatheater ranks that Malfoy was a part of. Snape is the Assistant Headmaster now; believe me, I never saw *that* one coming.   
  
And Hermione...  
  
Head of Gryffindor House. Transfiguration teacher. Never married. Stunningly beautiful.   
  
Needless to say, I have about as much a chance with her as a snowball in Hell. I never did have much of a chance...  
****  
I see her in the Great Hall. As usual, I hang back from doing as the other ghosts do, which is to socialize with the students at mealtimes. I traumatized a second-year Hufflepuff the day after I died simply by walking down the hallway. I glare down at my semi-transparant, silvery form. The formerly black Hogwarts robes I wear are ripped and soaked in silver blood, an ornate hilt sticks out high in my ribcage on the right, a sharp blade-tip protrudes from a spot just above my waist on the left. Voldemort actually made a messier job of it, but I've adjusted the blade to go hilt-deep through me. All around, my appearance is definitely frightening.   
  
God, I feel so cheated. For one, I had a painful and awful death. For another, I never let the girl I loved *know* that I loved her, until the last moment of my life. For a third, I'm stuck in puberty eternally. And finally, most unjustly, I died a virgin! Life and death and the afterlife are unceasingly cruel.   
  
I'm not sure why I stay here. I guess it's because I fit in with the decor...and besides, it's not like I have somewhere else to be. Mum and Dad still live at the Burrow, and there's no sense in going there and making Mum sad. And the ghoul has all the nice haunting places anyway.   
  
Everyone else has moved on with their lives...they *have* one. I can't really complain about that, Percy says that I can come and stay at his flat if I want. He seems to have really taken this whole thing in stride, even though I could tell you right now that he broke down when he saw my body maybe an hour after I died. But when he was working for the Ministry two years ago, he dealt with hags, merpeople, and vampires on a daily basis, so maybe he's used to scary things like blood-drenched ghosts.   
  
Still, I don't want to impose.   
  
Again I find it necessary to glare at something, and that's the Bloody Baron. He's floating silently beside me. We're some kind of pair...the Obvious Violent Death Club at Hogwarts. I'm not sure why he should be Slythrin's House Ghost...to be honest, I think I'm scarier than he is.   
  
But then, I'm a Gryffindor.   
****  
I'm passing the Transfiguration classroom when I hear somebody crying. Expecting the worst, I look around the hallway for the rare sight of Moaning Myrtle, but it isn't her. I poke my head through the classroom door, which has been magically locked and bolted against intrusion by the living.   
  
"Hey...'Mione?" She's sitting at her desk, her face buried in her folded arms, and she's sobbing like somebody died...*just* died. She doesn't hear me, and so I float over to her. Apparently, she feels the requisite chill we ghosts tote around with us and looks up. There's really no surprise in her expression; maybe she did hear me earlier.   
  
Close up, she's even prettier than the girl I knew at Hogwarts. Her hair is pulled back tightly into a ponytail that poofs out in a big soft cloud of tiny chestnut-colored curls, her beautiful, perceptive brown eyes gleam liquid as she sniffles and replaces her round, gold-rimmed glasses. Her soft mouth trembles slightly, offering me a weak but sincere smile. Conjuring up a handkercheif, she murmurs,   
  
"Hello, Ron."   
  
"Are you all right?" But she *doesn't* look all right, so I plunge on, "Some student make a half-assed attempt to curse you? Or did somebody hurt you? If they did, I can always--"   
  
"Ron." Her smile widens, but her eyes still seem sad. "It's not that. Don't you remember what day it is?"   
  
What day is it? I'm confused, until the memory comes back...   
****  
"Ron, why did you do it?"   
  
I feel like I'm drowning. Oh, that's the blood filling my lungs. I'm drowning in my own blood.   
  
There's not much time.   
  
"Harry...we're...best friends. Had to...help you..."   
  
Stop crying, for God's sake, all of you! I'll be okay...just...let me say it...   
  
It's getting dark...Hermione, was there supposed to be a storm today...?   
  
God, no! Wait, let me talk, please! Listen to me!   
  
I fix my eyes on her, but I'm not sure if she can see me through her tears. I've just got to let her know...   
  
"I...love you.."   
****  
"Jesus," I groan, "My deathday. I'm so sorry, 'Mione."   
  
She shakes her head. Her eyes are gentle. "No, Ron...we're the ones who should be sorry. You have to watch us; it feels like I've left you behind, and then you show up..." She whispers, "Just like I remember you..."   
  
I shake my head violently. "No, no. I don't want you to remember me like this...by this ugly death of mine."   
  
"That's not what I meant." She smiles slightly. "I remember sitting with you under that tree by the lake, in first year, after the exams. Harry was complaining about his scar hurting, and you told him to relax, we had a week to find out how badly we'd done."   
  
"Or how well, in your case."   
  
She ignored my interuption and continued softly, "And when you sacrificed yourself in McGonagall's chess game...and trying to curse Draco with your broken wand in second year...the Yule Ball in fourth," her voice became tinged with regret, "I never said anything, Ron, but you were the one I wanted to go with."   
  
That's a surprise. I manage to ask, "More than with Krum?"   
  
"Yes." She laughed, "but you made me so mad! Talking about that poor girl with the off-center nose...I used to be so insecure about my 'chipmunk teeth', I decided that you must not like me because I wasn't perfect."   
  
I sigh. "Everything that I said and did in my life looks so silly when I look back on it."   
  
"Don't say that. You didn't even get a chance to...to do, well, *anything* with your life." She reaches out to me with one hand that is shaking badly. "It's horrible of me, but sometimes...sometimes I wish that you hadn't, that you *hadn't*..."   
  
"That I hadn't pushed Harry out of the way when Voldemort attacked?" I ask. Hermione nods and starts to cry again. I want to hold her so badly, but I know that if I even tried to take her hand, I wouldn't be able to touch her so that she'd feel me. I shake my head. "I'm really a very selfish bastard, Hermione. I think stuff like that every day. But you know what?"   
  
Hermione is drying her eyes with that handkercheif again. She looks at me and sniffles, "What?"   
  
"I think...maybe you *do* need to leave me behind. Maybe it would be best if I went away, and you wouldn't have to be reminded--"   
  
"Oh, Ron!" she cries suddenly, interrupting me. She makes a movement like she might throw her arms around me, but she remembers about halfway through that she can't. "I don't want to forget you! I love you, too."   
  
"I know you do. But you have a life, 'Mione. You've got to live it, and not by wishing that the past was different. Please," and this time I have to hold her hands in mine, even if she trembles from the bone-chilling cold. I feel silvery ghost-tears sliding down my face as I whisper, "I need you to move on."   
  
"Ron..." she whispers, and I feel her kiss, like a whisper itself, as the slightest bit of warmth against my lips. I let go of her.  
  
"Promise me," I say sternly. I can't give in to self-pity anymore. She looks down, massaging the life back into her fingers, and she says in the softest possible voice,   
  
"I promise, Ron. But I won't forget you."  
  
"I wouldn't want that." I reply with a smile, and, sensing that she needs to be alone, I vanish by going through the back wall into a different hallway.   
  
My deathday. If I was feeling especially morbid, I could always go out on the lawn and lay in the spot where my blood spilled out onto the grass, where I shed my body the way a snake sheds its old scales. I'm not bound to this place. It's just convenient to haunt a place where ghosts are an accepted, if somewhat feared, part of the routine.   
  
Quite suddenly, I feel tired with the whole thing. What am I doing here? I'm *dead,* and I've *been* dead for nearly two decades. What good am I doing for anyone anymore?   
  
I pull the blade out of my body. I study it closely; there are strange runes carved into it that I never noticed before. The years I've spent reading over students' shoulders as they do their homework has paid off. I read them softly.   
  
"The victim of my fatal enchantment shall be doomed to wander the earth as long as he holds me."   
  
Seems to be saying that I ought leave this piece of junk behind when I go. That settles that for me...I throw it down, and it strikes the ground where I died, then disappears. I don't know where I'll go next.   
  
I walk away, toward the west, into the rosy dusk of sunset. I can feel myself fading away before I reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest...   
  
But I'm not sad anymore, everyone. I'm sure of it now...   
  
I'm going home.  
  
~Finis~ 


End file.
